Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (16 page)

Chapter 27

885 AD

Deirdre was crying. Selia tried to go to her daughter, but the big arm around her pinned her tight to the bed. Alrik’s large body was behind her, blocking her escape. Deirdre’s cries escalated. Selia thrashed about, desperate now, begging him to let her go. His other hand came around to her mouth, clamping down hard. She couldn’t breathe. She struggled to no avail, frantic for air. The sound of Deirdre’s cries began to fade as the blackness pulled her under . . .

“Selia.”

Her eyes flew open to see Alrik gripping her shoulders, his face close to hers. She screamed.

“Selia!” The hands on her shoulders shook her gently. “You’re dreaming. Everything is all right.”

Breathing raggedly, she focused on the face in front of her. The short beard, the kind eyes.
Ulfrik
. Relief flooded her body as she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.

“He was here. It was so real—”

“Shh,” he murmured. “It was just a dream.”

Ulfrik held her, stroking her hair, and Selia felt her tightly-coiled muscles begin to relax. She drew in a shuddering breath. It had been a long time since she’d dreamt of Alrik, yet three nights in a row he’d visited her dreams.

In the year since Deirdre had been born, they’d made a good life for themselves on their little island. A happy life.

Her love for Ulfrik had only grown stronger as Selia watched him with Deirdre. Ulfrik was everything Alrik hadn’t been as a father—kind, patient, and affectionate. And Deirdre, in turn, adored him. It was a frequent joke in the household that if only Ulfrik had milk for the little girl, Selia would be completely usurped.

There were times, albeit brief, when Selia forgot about Alrik completely. Those moments without fear were so precious. Then she would remember why they were in hiding on the island, and the anxiety would return like a dark cloud.

Ulfrik chuckled now, and Selia drew back to look at him. “Someone is awake,” he said.

She turned. Deirdre was sitting up in her cradle, watching them with her big blue eyes. “Mewk,” she said, holding her chubby arms out.

Selia brought the child into the bed, nestling her in the middle between her and Ulfrik. She lay on her side to nurse Deirdre, who happily snuggled into her. Ulfrik rose up on his elbow, watching Selia in the way that made her feel he could look into her soul.

“Are you anxious because Ainnileas is leaving?”

Ulfrik knew her so well. Her brother had left soon after Deirdre’s birth, only returning at the end of the summer. Ainnileas was a merchant; he needed to sail. Selia knew this. He could earn much more in one long, lucrative trip than he could taking several shorter in duration. That one long trip made it possible for them all to live very comfortably throughout the winter.

But it still stole Selia’s breath to think of all the evils that could befall her brother while he was gone. Her stomach had been in knots the past few days. He was in Dubhlinn now, making final preparations with his men. Ainnileas would return to the island for a last goodbye, then they wouldn’t see him again until autumn was nearly upon them.

It seemed to Selia much of her childhood had been spent waiting for Niall to return from a voyage. She should be accustomed to goodbyes. But her younger self had been blissfully unaware of all the wickedness in the world. She hadn’t known of the very real dangers Niall faced every time he sailed away. Now, she knew of them only too well.

“Yes,” Selia sighed, cradling Deirdre’s little head. “I wish he didn’t have to leave.”

Selia walked with Bahati up the forest path to do the morning milking. She shifted Deirdre to her other hip as they reached the bluff, stopping to catch her breath. The child was rapidly becoming too heavy for her to carry for long.

Without a word, Bahati held her arms out to the tot, and Deirdre went to her readily. The child patted Bahati’s cheek with her tiny, dimpled hand. “’Ati,” she beamed.

Bahati kissed the top of Deirdre’s dark baby curls as they continued their stroll. As always, Bahati’s gaze lingered on Father Oengul’s tower. A plume of smoke curled from the hole in the stones, but there were no other signs of activity. Bahati turned away with a sigh.

Selia’s heart ached for her friend. She knew Bahati’s feelings for the priest were complicated. She loved him. Not in a carnal way; but still, love. And Oengul loved her and Catrin as well. He loved them so much he’d had no choice but to push them away.

Raised a Christian, Selia knew how unseemly it was for a man of God to live alone with a woman, in a way Bahati and Ulfrik could not understand. She knew some priests did live with women as man and wife, even fathering children with them, but those bonds were frowned upon by the church. Necessity had forced Oengul and Bahati together for several years, their lonely existence on the island only deepening an already unorthodox relationship.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone when he’d asked Bahati and Catrin to move from the tower and into the house with them. Unfamiliar with the conventions of Christianity, Bahati had been deeply hurt by how Oengul distanced himself.

Since then, Oengul would come to visit occasionally, speaking to them in the reserved manner of a priest, not a friend. Even Catrin held back a bit, as though now unsure how to behave around the only man she’d ever known as father. Bahati avoided him completely, either leaving the house as soon as he arrived, or hiding in her bedchamber.

Selia and Bahati walked in silence the rest of the way, both a bit melancholy, though for different reasons. Upon reaching the makeshift barn, Selia fished a length of thin rope from a pocket in her gown and tied it around her daughter, then looped the other end about her own waist, knotting it securely. She kept the rope on hand most of the time.

It was unconventional, to be sure, but Selia was still plagued with nightmares of the day the boys had gone over the cliff. She refused to take further chances near its sheer drop off. Anytime Deirdre wasn’t on her hip or safe inside the confines of the house and the stone fence surrounding it, she was tied to Selia with the rope.

They milked the sheep in companionable silence as Deirdre played with the little animals Ulfrik had carved for her out of whalebone. For a while there was nothing but the sound of milk streams hitting their pails.

“You should go talk to him,” Selia said. “It’s silly to continue avoiding him, Bahati.”

The woman stopped milking. Her face peered around the haunches of a sheep. “Silly?”

Selia had spoken in Irish, a language that Bahati had wanted to learn, but still struggled with sometimes. Selia provided a comparable word in Welsh, then another in Norse, just to be sure the woman fully understood.

Bahati frowned at her, unleashing a torrent of angry words in her native tongue. Selia understood some of it, and smiled at her friend. “I’m not being meddlesome. I know you miss him. How about if I carry the milk back by myself, so you can have a visit?”

“No.”

Selia shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The quiet milking continued. Deirdre babbled happily where she sat with her little collection of animals. Selia finished with the sheep in front of her, stopping to stretch the kink in her back.

“He told me I saved his life,” Bahati offered suddenly. “He told me he would have jumped from the cliff if he had not seen me in the water.”

Selia gaped at Bahati. Father Oengul had nearly killed himself? She couldn’t comprehend the idea of him even considering such an act. “Why?”

Bahati shook her head. “He feels guilt for the men who died. The other priests.” She waved her hand in the direction of the burnt remains of the monastery.

Selia knew Gunnar and his men had killed the priests. Ulfrik had been with them. “Why would he feel guilty?”

“I do not know.” Bahati shrugged. “But their faces haunt his sleep.” She leveled her gaze upon Selia. “I am afraid he will let himself die now that we are gone.”

“Oh, Bahati,” Selia breathed. “Go talk to him. Tell him of your worry.”

“No.” Bahati rose, stretching. She leaned over to pick up her pail, then handed it to Selia. “Take Oengul some milk. I will carry Deirdre home.”

Selia raised her brows. “Do you want me to tell him you’re worried about him?”

“
No
. Just give him the milk and see that he is well.”

“All right.” There was no use in arguing with Bahati. She was as stubborn a woman as any Selia had ever known, barring Ingrid. And Bahati was right, anyway; it had been a fortnight at least since they’d seen the priest. Selia reached for the pail.

She knocked on Father Oengul’s door, and waited for what seemed like endless minutes, shifting the pail of milk from one hand to another. It was a beautiful day, the water sparkling clear and blue below, the sky cloudless above. Perhaps the priest had gone fishing.

Just as Selia turned to go on her way, Oengul opened the door. Selia took a step back at his drastic appearance.

Never a healthy looking man, now the father looked shockingly unwell. His greasy hair clung to his head, his face a pale blur above an unkempt beard. Desolate eyes ringed with black stared back at her. Selia had seen that type of deep despair before, from Alrik. Did the priest suffer from a similar malady? Was that why Bahati worried for him?

Selia cleared her throat, nodding toward the pail she carried. “We had more milk than we needed, so I’ve brought it to you.”

It seemed to take Oengul just a moment too long to respond. He finally reached for the pail she offered. “Thank you.”

As Oengul moved to shut the door, Selia stopped him. “I wondered I if could speak to you, Father.”

He turned back, eyeing her suspiciously. “Yes?”

Selia thought hard for a reason. Nothing readily came to mind, so she settled for the truth. “I’ve been having nightmares again. About Alrik. I hoped you could say a blessing over me.”

Selia shifted under his scrutiny as the priest studied her. Then he stepped aside to open the door wider. “Come in, Selia.”

The interior of the tower was in shadows, with a dank, musty smell. Selia tripped over something on her way to the table. Father Oengul stirred the hearth coals, adding a few more sticks of kindling, then sat across from her.

The firelight licking at his face made his eyes seem even more sunken. “Tell me what troubles you.”

Selia chewed at her lip. “I’ve been having dreams of Alrik. Dreams that seem so real. I don’t know what to make of them.”

“Has something changed?”

“Changed?” she echoed.

He shrugged. “With the Northman. Or with anything. Sometimes changes can bring worry.”

The priest was even more perceptive than she’d realized. “Ainnileas is preparing to leave again,” she hedged.

“Yes. It is only natural for you to worry about your brother.” He stared at her as though waiting for her to continue.

“I think I am with child,” Selia blurted. She froze, shocked at herself. No one knew this secret, not even Bahati. What had come over her to share it with Father Oengul?

“That is a change to bring worrisome dreams.”

Selia nodded, eyes downcast. Unbeknownst to Ulfrik, she’d stopped taking Hrefna’s tea well over a fortnight ago.

They’d agreed it was best for Selia not to have more children after her labor with Deirdre had nearly ended in tragedy. Ulfrik had even been willing to deny himself the pleasure of her body in order to keep his seed from taking hold in her womb. She remembered the look of utter relief on his face when she told him of the tea.

What had caused her to stop taking it? Even in her own mind, it made little sense. But every day as she saw how wonderful Ulfrik was with Deirdre, and with the boys, she longed to give him a child.

He was raising Deirdre and Faolan as a father, not an uncle. And although Ulfrik was Geirr’s true father, the boy’s early childhood had been stolen from him. By Selia.

Ulfrik deserved a child of his own, one that was his from the beginning. A child made not from desperation, as Geirr had been, but of love. Selia wanted to give Ulfrik this gift more than she’d ever wanted anything. He was owed that much.

But now, noticing the telltale signs that she might already be carrying a babe, Selia had panicked a bit. Perhaps she’d been too hasty. Perhaps she should have spoken to Ulfrik first to ascertain his thoughts on the matter.

Perhaps she should have considered the consequences of bringing Ulfrik’s child into the world when she was still by law married to his brother.

“You worry for this child’s soul?”

Selia released a breath. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Father Oengul. “Yes. We are handfast, of course, but . . .”

“Have you any way to know if your husband is still alive? Ulfrik’s brother?”

“No.”

“Well, then. The child can be baptized if that is what you desire. But the church will still consider it a bastard birth. You know this, Selia.”

She frowned pensively. Ulfrik seemed more her husband than Alrik ever had. It angered her that a child born of their union would not be considered legitimate.

As long as Oengul was willing to baptize the child, nothing else mattered. Selia forced her anger away.

Although the priest seemed to take the news of the babe in stride, Selia knew Eithne wouldn’t be as forgiving. When the woman had shared her fear with Selia that another child would kill her, she’d haltingly told Eithne about Hrefna’s tea.

The look on Eithne’s face could have very well stopped the tide. She’d crossed herself and turned from Selia, muttering about Selia falling prey to unbridled Finngall sin. No good Christian woman would use such a thing to prevent a babe from growing in her belly. But more than likely Eithne was secretly relieved Selia wouldn’t bear any more children.